


Down With Love

by TheOtherCourse (kanevixen)



Series: The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth [14]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Broadway, Drama, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Friends to Lovers, Long-Distance Relationship, Romance, Sequel, Theatre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2018-11-30 02:40:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanevixen/pseuds/TheOtherCourse
Summary: In the winter of 2011, Tom returns to New York City for the War Horse premiere and visit his Broadway singer ex-girlfriend, hoping to rekindle their flame. Deep in denial, she struggles with his reappearance in her life and his desire to overcome the obstacles that forced them apart more than once since they fell in love almost two years ago. These two ambitious and successful actors fight their families, careers and each other along the course of true love. And in the words of Shakespeare himself, the course of true love never did run smooth.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to the hopeful ending in The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. If you have any questions or something is unclear, please don't hesitate to ask. There will be many time jumps in this story. I'll make everything as clear as possible. I also play around with Tom's real life schedule to suit my purpose. I also create events that don't actually happen because this is a work of fiction.

**Down With Love (Prologue)**

**June 2012 - London/New York City - Text Exchange between Tom in London and Terry in New York**

‘ _Did you ask? Is she going to that audition? – TH’_

_‘Damn, sweetie, dunno yet – TB’_

_‘Need you, Terr. Make this happen – TH’_

_‘You’re askin for a miracle, my lil acorn. I’m better suited for that role than she is, and I have a job. She’s not right for it, she knows it, I know it – TB’_

_‘Terr, please, trust me. Get her to that audition – TH’_

_‘I was told never trust a man who said trust me – TB’_

_‘When have you listened to anyone? – TH’_

_‘I believe you wanted me to do something for you, teddy bear. Taking the mouse right now isn’t the way to get my help – TB’_

_‘The mouse? The mickey… - TH’_

_‘I thought you were British, mate. Cockney. Mickey Mouse. Taking the mickey – TB’_

_‘Clever! – TH’_

_‘You stole the charm from it, you wanker. The joke isn’t funny when I gotta explain it – TB’_

_‘You got wanker right. About that audition…? - TH’_

_‘Alright, Mr Hollywood. Tell me how. – TB’_

_‘Work your best friend magic and convince her – TH’_

_‘Best friend magic? Like you’re pullin on me. Right now. – TB’_

_‘Precisely. – TH’_

_‘Then why? Can I tell her it’s a good opportunity for her or because you want it for her? – TB’_

_‘You know the answer to that. She can’t know that I’m involved – TH’_

_‘Why can’t she know? No, fuck it, you tell me why you’re involved, lamb chop – TB’_

_‘Lamb chop? Artistic, that one. Don’t make me tell you, Terr – TH’_

_‘Why not? Six words or less – TB’_

_‘In a Manhattan minute, you’d spill. – TH’_

_‘Ha! Six words. Damn straight, you gorgeous British arse I would. – TB’_

_‘You can’t, Terr. Just get her there. – TH’_

_‘Alright, mastermind. Can I ask one thing? – TB’_

_‘Make it a good one – TH’_

_‘T Hiddy, baby, do you still love her? – TB’_

_‘Terr, you know I never stopped loving her. Never wanted this – TH’_

_‘Alright, hun. You owe me. – TB’_

_‘Name it. Consider it yours. I’m in your debt – TH’_

_‘I like that. I could exploit the hell outta that – TB’_

_‘You won’t because you love me – TH’_

_‘Correction. I will because I love you. – TB’_

_‘I know you’ve got your heart on something. Give it up. – TH’_

_‘Elaine Paige discography. Brand new. On my doorstep within three days. – TB’_

_‘Done. – TH’_

_‘And make Kerry Ellis do a full album – TB’_

_‘I’ll pay for it myself. – TH’_

_‘Liar – TB’_

_‘How is she? How’s Kristiane? – TH’_

_‘Wish I could tell you. – TB’_

_‘You’re her best friend – TH’_

_‘I am but she’s walled up inside herself. She doesn’t share, not like she used to. – TB’_

_‘What happened? – TH’_

_‘I wish I could tell you – TB’_

_‘When do you leave? For the tour? – TH’_

_‘Next month. Around the 18th. – TB’_

_‘It’s brilliant that you were offered something so amazing, Terr. Well done! But fix this thing with Kristie. – TH’_

_‘I’ll be leaving her and honestly, Tom, that hurts. Especially when she’s so… silent. I can’t get through to her – TB’_

_‘You used my name… If anyone can, you’re it, my friend – TH’_

_‘You used to be that close to her – TB’_

_‘I can’t go there with you, Terr. Too much water under that bridge. – TH’_

_‘And yet somehow you’re still looking out for her… this audition? – TB’_

_‘She broke up with me, but I still care. – TH’_

_‘Why won’t you tell me- you know what… nevermind – TB’_

_‘Fix this thing with Kristiane. Whatever it is. Don’t leave her like this. Be relentless. – TH’_

_‘Working it, love. Working it. But you next, you feel me? – TB’_


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Kristiane are reunited, but things aren't as perfect as their week together at the end of The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth. Kristiane is in a brand new show on Broadway while Tom his opening War Horse. Since he's back in New York City, he wants to spend some time with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Down With Love (Chapter One)**

**New York City, December 4, 2011**

**_**Kristiane** _ **

“Ditched your costume already, have ya?” I stood in the doorway of my dressing room surveying my costar and close friend with a long look. Up and down, the exaggerated sweeping gaze ran over her jeans and black hoodie. “How do you do that?” I gestured with an exaggerated wave of my hand, shaking my head in disbelief.

Angling through the door without invitation, Leslie scoffed, “Kristie.” She clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth in disgust, shrugging her shoulder. “I don’t wanna spend anymore time in that thirties getup than I hafta.”

“I think I can still hear the orchestra playing the exit music,” I joked. The door closed behind her, I dismissed her visit and entitled intrusion into my space; I kept an open room most of the time. After years of quick changes, shared dressing rooms and crowded tour buses (where I paid my dues to the theatre gods), modesty and shame were both antiquated notions. Night after night, I sang a solo in nothing more than an open dress over a bra and lady bloomers in a theatre of over a thousand seats and faces.

“Soooo… how does it feel, Kristiane?” Leslie, my friend and costar sang, plopping down upon my dressing room’s light pink futon. “You survived opening week, and the critics are praising your performance.”

Sitting at my vanity, I grinned into the reflection, peering over my shoulder to her mirrored image. Blowing out a cleansing sigh, I nodded, “Relieved mostly… I’m still breathing.” The many workshops, the intensive rehearsal period, the out of town tryout productions in Florida and California, the table reads in New York, and the late, late nights had paid off. Bonnie and Clyde, my second Broadway leading lady production, became a commanding part of my life eighteen months ago. The hurdle of making it back to Manhattan felt as close to success as one could get. Plucking makeup remover soaked cotton swabs from my dresser, Mel, I mumbled a quick, “Thank you.”

The written praises, the published reviews that Leslie referred, graced and decorated the bare walls behind her head. From my cushioned perch, my eyes glanced at the humbling professional critiques: ‘Kristiane Taylor delivers a tour de force performance as Bonnie Parker, a convincing growth from innocent small town girl to sultry, seductive, ambitious starlet-turned-bank robber.’

The enormity of excellent lines in publications like the New Yorker and the New York Times edged on surreal. ‘A perfect example of the performers outshining the material they portray and becoming more than the sum of their parts. Jordan, Taylor, and the cast steal the show with guns blazing. Don’t miss this one!’ After the gallons of sweat, the hours of dancing, training and building stamina, and one twisted ankle faded in the background when the work was recognized in blurbs like that. The ace bandage wrapped around my foot didn’t make the injury painfully pulse any less, but didn’t annoy as much. A small offering upon the show business altar.

“I’m grateful for our day off tomorrow, that’s for sure,” I commented, leaning into the mirror to dab away the thick globs of foundation and powder that made me stage ready. “I have exactly forty-six hours to catch up with my life.” I chuckled into my reflection, “I’ll accomplish exactly none of it.”

“I hear that!” Leslie reclined back, tipping her head back to play with her striking red hair over her shoulder while examining the contents of my dressing room. One leg crossed over the other, she distractedly asked, “Was Terry in the audience tonight?”

“Not tonight. He’s waitin’…” I pointed to my neglected cell at the end of the makeup station, angrily blinking blue with unread notifications. “On a text to tell him where to meet up.” At the same time, I reached for the device, Mel hustled from the vanity to change out of my blood soaked costumes. The real Bonnie Parker went out in a rain of bullets meant I walked off the stage looking like I did.

Stepping behind the neck high partition with her, Mel prodded and pulled, pressed and primped me out of the layers of thirties garb. The meticulous dresser stayed silent while she milled around performing her usual checklist of items. Costumes were laundered every Sunday night for the new week ahead, with Mel responsible for mine.

“We are going out…” I led from behind the room divider, encouraging Leslie to tell me why she’d crashed my changing time. I stepped easily into my own intimates and street clothes. “Right? Where we going?”

The actress blushed furiously and raked her sweaty hands on the denim of her jean-clad thighs. “Ha-ha-House of Brews if y– well, I want to go there,” she exhaled in a rush of slurred words.

I barked a laugh, circling out from behind the closet part of my dressing room. “Will a certain handsome bartender be there tonight? Doug’ll be there tonight, won’t he?” I snuck a peak at my reflection in the mirror once more to scrub the rest of my makeup off. “Is that why your panties are on fire to go again this week?”

Leslie whined in the back of her throat that she’d been caught once again. House of Brews had become our staple after performances to blow off steam and wind down with a couple of beers. My friend flushed again and flopped dramatically to her side upon the futon.  “Kristie,” she whined. “I like him so much.”

Giggling, I nodded into the mirror, “I thought so.”

A knock at the door reverberated around the small space of my dressing room. “Yo!!! We going?” Our friend and cast member, Alice, called from the hall.

“Come in, come in,” I yelled to her, laughing, making more space for her and Jocelyn. They stopped in my room every night on the way out to the crowd of fans at the sidewalk.

The door banged against wall with the stomp of feet and the stampede of two thirsty singers. Alice burst into a peel of laughter at the display of historical dramatics that Leslie performed. “She’s talked up the dude, hasn’t she?”

I confirmed it with another nod, watching the scene play out in the mirror while fixed my makeup and my ratted up hair from the Bonnie Parker wig. Mel jumped in, forcing me to sit again at the vanity, to comb out the knots.

The noise and commotion and crowd in my dressing room reminded me of the typical Sunday matinee performances. As much as we embraced our day off and a break from the theatre, we were reluctant to leave it just the same. Cast members became friends, friends turned to family, the show our routine, our normalcy, our comfort. I reveled in having them around, even when the filled in the small space.

Jocelyn poked fun at Leslie’s crush, while Alice counted the number of nights we’d spent at House of Brews because of it. Mel concentrated on pulling a comb through my hair. I finally reached for my phone once more to send a message off to Terry to meet us at our familiar hideout.

My heart slammed against my ribcage at a text notification from Tom. My Shakespeare, my Tom, my on-again, off-again, mostly off-again long distance boyfriend. My blood surged and all color drained from my face. Heat rose along my spine while my hands shook from the swell of adrenaline. Although my costars and friends laughed and carried on, I couldn’t hear them through the ring of… isolation from… Tom. My Tom.

I swiped a trembling thumb down the notifications to the text from him.  _‘I miss you, Wilde one. – T xx_ ’ I read it once, and again.

It had been three months since Tom and I had been together or even shared a conversation, let alone a text message. The unprompted and sudden reminder tugged at my heart, sent a jolt through my belly and sent my head swirling. Tom and I couldn’t let go of each other, though we didn’t work, hadn’t worked as a couple for a long time, if at all. I stared at the message, an alarm sounding in my head to ignore it. If I didn’t answer, I wouldn’t get sucked down that road again, after having my heart stomped to shit at the hands of this man. I loved him still, immensely, powerfully, but I couldn’t answer without considering it carefully.

And I read it once more before depressing the button to close the screen. I dropped the phone on the table with a clatter and breathed. Inhaled deeply, held it and then exhaled.

Mel, ever the silent one, didn’t ask, only left me to manage on my own. She was a sweet woman when she spoke, but she kept her distance from too many personal details. She made another pass over my hair with the comb to give me a moment to collect myself.

Alice chimed in, cutting through my tension with a not so subtle hint, verbally elbowing me back into the conversation, “Matt’s gonna be there too, Kristie.”

In a New York minute, Jocelyn jumped all over that, “He still holds a candle for the Broadway star.”

I pocketed my traitorous phone with the message from far, far away, shouldered my bag, and helped Leslie up from her Oscar worthy swoon. “He’s not. We had one dinner, one date, a million years ago.”

Fresh with the history lesson, Alice corrected, “A year and half and two shows later, Ms. Broadway Diva.”

“One dinner,” I protested, trying to free myself from the dating spotlight. My love life was in the toilet once more, and I didn’t know where I stood with the man who kept putting a physical and emotional ocean between us. The most recent evidence burned a hole in my pocket to answer his first contact with me since that fateful night in September.

“One dinner?” Leslie echoed with an unmistakable air of interest. “Do tell!”

Comically, I ordered all three of them out of my dressing room, pointing down the stairs to stage level. The Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, my second home,  was the theatre where I made my debut as a Broadway leading lady. In December of 2010, I performed as Judy in Daddy Long Legs the musical. I loved every dark corner and dulled white wall of the place.

I followed close behind the girls as we made our way down to the stage to exit through the back alley. Imminent repairs on the stage door stairwell rerouted our exit to another door. The pulley system malfunctioned for the onstage car and did some major damage to two of the stairs. My old pal Victor waved us through the house, vowing to see us next week, making note that we’d exited the building.

Between my dressing room and the alley, I’d managed to steer the conversation back to Leslie and her affections for Doug, the bartender. Alice held the door as we all filed out, talking over each other and anticipating our night ahead based on the debauchery we’d gotten ourselves into on previous occasions. A crowd of autograph seekers screamed their excitement beyond the steel gate at the end of the alley, charmed by my leading man, Jeremy. The house manager at the gate held Sharpies for our exit into the crowd on the sidewalk of 45th Street.

From behind me, the damned British voice that echoed through my head spoke, “An extraordinary performance today, Ms. Taylor.” The voice as smooth as caramel caressed down my spine and tingled along my skin. I knew the voice instantly. The last person I expected to see and conversely the only one I longed for.

The unexpected interruption from my exit strategy with the girls made me freeze mid-step. My coworkers hadn’t heard or chose to ignore and continued out into the crowd, among the whistles and mingled applause from the audience members who stuck around to glimpse the stars of the show and get autographs.

My heart raced and galloped while my pulse pounded and echoed in my head. A tremor from an intense shock through my system, a mixture of excitement and dread simultaneously. Of all the possibilities in all the world, I never dreamed that this would be one, that he would be here.

“Thank you,” I whispered to the back of my friends as they filed out into the throng of people, but addressing the man who spoke. Slowly I turned on my heel and there he was, my handsome, wayward, off-again boyfriend.

Dressed in an expertly tailored black suit of crushed velvet, he complimented it with a black bow tie and recently shined block loafers, his hands shoved deep into his trousers pockets. His hair was lighter and longer than I’d last seen, sporting gorgeous ginger curls and an extremely sexy goatee.

Even in the dim orange light of the alley between the Schoenfeld and the Booth Theatres, his blue eyes drew me in. Power stancing as only my Tom could, he exuded wealth, education and confidence.

Numb. My body, my legs, my arms, my hands, and all my extremities numbed at the sight of him. My blood thickened to syrup seeping through my veins. I moved in slow-motion, at least it felt that way. “What are you doing here?” The only response I could utter, the only thing that came to mind.

“Heard your show opened this week, and read that it was a must see.” His eyes gave away nothing, his explanation even less.

If I could form half a thought or half a mind, I could read between the lines that he talked to Terry. But I couldn’t quite comprehend what my eyes saw, what ears heard, what my heart… yearned for… “Did you see it?”

He held up a copy of the Bonnie and Clyde playbill and ticket stub up as proof. “Amazing performance,” he confirmed and charmed easily, his demeanor seemingly unaffected by my presence, that we were somehow together again after all this time. “Came to get your autograph.”

I closed the distance between us and stood in front of him, automatic pilot kicking in and setting my feet in motion. My mind slowed by the lack of oxygen filling my lungs. I took the proof from his hand and stared in disbelief at the seat number, L104, and there was something else he’d slipped into my hand with his souvenirs from the show.

“And to tell you that I’ve got a room at the Marriott, across the street for the next 36 hours.” The deep timber and heavy meaning nearly sunk me to my knees, my mind reeling. My afternoon had been so normal, so routine, but my night suddenly became anything but. I had gone through my day unawares that my life would altar and take a turn because… Tom… in New York. Tom in the same time zone. Tom.

I examined the keycard, a green piece of plastic the size of a credit card, with a gold outline of the building etched on the front and the room number across the bottom. The ability to speak or compute or react escaped me. The pain that we’d inflicted on each other was always there, would always be, but so was the magnetic attraction that had brought us together in the first place, two years ago.

Cupping my face in his hands, he gave me no other option but to meet his eyes. “Spend the night with me.” The ever present passion burst between us in the moment, and I inhaled at the undeniable pull to be with him.

The irony wasn’t lost on me even in my semi-comatose state, Tom’s original plan for me during my first two week vacation in London when we met. Despite his desire to seduce the unavailable broken actress with an abusive boyfriend, we’d fallen in love. Our history only got more complicated from there.

“Why, Tom?” I shook my head in an attempt to logic it myself. “Why?”

“I’m in town for the premiere of War Horse at Lincoln Center. Flew in early to catch your show—“

“And proposition me…” I muttered under my breath.

“—and attend the premiere,” he checked his watch, the replacement he wore in place of the one he gave me. “In about an hour… But I can leave the film early after I make my appearance on the red carpet… to spend some time with you.”

“That won’t fix us.” I couldn’t deny my attraction to him and my want to lose myself in the pleasure we created together. But could I compromise my heart again as I did every time we were physically in the same time zone, something that didn’t happen often?

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, pulling me into his embrace, anchoring me to him so I couldn’t escape or say no. His lips descended on mine, and I conceded, I gave in, I kissed him back.

I dropped his playbill, keycard and ticket stub on the ground, wrapping my arms around him, anxious to feel him, smell him, taste him, hold him. His hands were on my ass, crushing me into the length of his body and how I craved it all the more. He held me up in his arms, my feet leaving the ground as we kissed, his tongue massaging mine with a hunger that somehow made the pain of separation worth the suffering.

_Oh, God, I’d missed him._

“Yo, Kristie! You coming?” Alice called from the end of the alley unable to see me in my compromised position in the shadow of the abandoned equipment that lined the wall on one side.

Breaking the kiss, Tom smirked and whispered, “Not yet.”

“Put me down,” I ordered in a murmur, not wanting to advertise that I was with him or that he was in town. The girls partly knew of his existence, but not the extent of our breakup or our partial reconciliations. Calling to the end of the alley, I said, “I’m on my way. Hold a seat for me at the table. I’ll follow right behind you.”

Tom didn’t seem inclined to release me from the hold he had me in, and I was torn over whether I wanted him to or not. He looked irresistibly pleased with himself at distracting me and halting my progress to the bar. “Spend the night with me, Kristiane,” he repeated urgently, gently rubbing noses with me. He sensed my hesitation, the stress of indecision making my body rigid in his arms. “Can we go back to the way we were?”

“You pulled away from me, Tom…” I sighed, remembering all the reasons we parted, regaining myself. “I-I can’t take… the-the-the revolving door that you have on your heart. You can’t  _choose_  which parts of me that you love, and which parts you don’t.”

“Kristie, for tonight. Put a pin in it for tonight while I’m in town.”

“Do you really want to make love to me – me? – or are you just horny and need to fuck it out?”

“What’s wrong with a little of both?”

“Tom,” I argued, pulling free of his arms and stepping away from him. I felt bereft of him already and I was so close to giving into him.

“Kristie, it doesn’t have to always have to be like this… so tense, so heartbreaking. Can’t we—“

“Because I don’t want part of you—“

“You didn’t want all of me either… not when—“

I interrupted since all our conversations descended into arguments ever since last summer. Whenever we got together, we argued until we passionately fell into bed. Whenever we spoke on the phone, we argued until we cried, agreeing that we shouldn’t be together. “Can we get off this merry go round? I’ve ridden this ride before and there’s no merry left in it.”

In response, with just as much vigor as he gave to arguing with me, he pulled me into another kiss, full of the underlying passion that had been ignored or pushed aside since we’d been together last. I was weak to fight it, I couldn’t, I wanted him too much. I fell into him, attaching myself to him.

Reluctantly, after a few minutes, he pulled away, cursing under his breath. He gave me a rueful puppy dog expression, “I have to go. Please spend the night with me. Think about it.” He bent and picked up his discarded things that I’d dropped in the heat of the moment. Pressing the keycard back into my hand, he insisted, “I want you there. You, Kristiane, you… my Wilde one, my love. Meet me there in two hours.”

Within a blink of an eye, he was gone, walked out through the crowd of people beyond the heavy gate and blended in with the after theatre foot traffic flooding into Times Square. My conflicted emotions made my body hum with awareness of the love of my life in the same city with me, after not knowing before. Tom always surprised me, always left me in the dark, and that was part of the reason we weren’t really together, not actively dating.

In a wave of utter confusion and what if scenarios floating through my head, I greeted my audience waiting for me to take pictures and sign autographs at the end of the alley. I smiled automatically, my mind in a rush of what to do with the keycard that I’d shoved in my back pocket. The Marriott Marquis loomed over me from across the street, taunting me, whispering of the night ahead if I agreed.

How could I agree after all the torment Tom and I had put each other through? We could never agree on what our relationship should be. We loved each other, I knew that much, but what that meant to him and what that meant to me were completely different ideals. I posed for a picture with another enthusiastic fan, my gaze following a limo that pulled out of the Marquis driveway, wondering what I should do.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he was in the same city as me when he was all I wanted. What would I be facing on the other side of another tryst? More heartache, more doubt, more loneliness, more empty hours.

As I finished up with the last of the fans waiting and being as friendly as possible with the confusion chasing through my head, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.

_‘’I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?’ I can still taste you, my love. Don’t say no. – T xx’_

_My Shakespeare messaged me that from time to time, in his random messages back and forth. It was a quote from Much Ado About Nothing that kept reviving itself between us. I wanted things to be settled between us, so I stopped living in limbo of my relationship status. It wouldn’t matter overall, I loved Tom with all my heart that I couldn’t get involved with anyone else or move on._

_‘I have doubts, Tom. This isn’t easy. – K’_

_‘Let it be just us, Kristie, as we were at the start. Just Tom. Just Kristie. Nothing more – T xx’_

_‘What if I want more? I don’t want it to be about sex. – K’_

_‘It never is about that, my love, you know that. It never is. We’ll talk. Just be there tonight. – T xx’_

_‘Please. Be there. – T xx’_

Unable to remember my walk from the theatre to the bar a block and half away, the girls had a margarita ready for me when I arrived. I downed the first to numb the pain of indecision. I stared blankly into the glass, the melting ice, and the diluted green liquid that was mostly water at the bottom. The girls talked and flirted with our friends from other productions, while I remained mostly quiet watching the clock behind the bar, my time disappearing before my eyes. The deadline to make a decision slipped by tick by tick.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kristiane makes a decision to see Tom while he's in New York City. Instead of another night of intimacy, the reunited couple unearth the trouble that tore them apart to begin with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Down With Love (Chapter Two)** **  
** **  
** **New York City, December 4, 2011** **  
** **  
** **Tom**

 

I strode through the crowd of enthusiastic theatregoers crowded around the stage door. The eager faces looked to me, hoping to see Kristiane, but the anxious expressions replaced by ennui at once. I passed through without incidence ignored as unimportant. The hired Disney limo waiting for me idled at the curb in front of Kristiane’s theatre, to get me where I needed to be when I needed to be there.

 

Glancing up the pedestrian filled block towards Times Square, I yanked the door handle and folded myself into the backseat. Exhaling the Manhattan smog on an exasperated breath, I chucked my head back against the expensive leather rest, shutting out the world behind closed eyelids. My body thrummed with excitement after the too short minutes with Kristiane. I’d handled seeing her again as a teenage boy seeing and fumbling with breasts for the first time. Attempted suave, aloof and charming but instead gave her awkward, impatient expectancy and blundering love-sick jilted partner.

 

The car eased into the oncoming traffic and navigated the path of least resistance to Lincoln Center. The glide of the wheels interrupted only by the occasional pothole with its own providence hiccuped our progress.

 

“So,” the voice next to me sing-songed, “it went well then?”

 

Luke Windsor, my publicist, sometimes assistant and friend. Lived at my side for film premieres, press tours and public appearances. I hired him fresh off booking Thor, in the same week in fact. He managed my time and the public side of my career to highlight my accessibility and hireability. After more than two years and numerous premieres, Luke grew to be more than an employee or friend, rather a brother from another mother.

 

Ruefully I cracked my eyes open again to sideeye him. “Tits up. I cocked that up.”

 

He nodded, popping a cashew from the limo bar into his mouth. “All up in your head, mate… all up in there.”

 

Our driver steered through midtown traffic, politely ignoring our chat while elevator music played through the sophisticated soundsystem. The white noise of the city buzz drowned out by the elegant chassie. The energy of New York City surpassed that of London. Although the filth and grime remained the same, Manhattan felt brand new and used hard. Like a hired car, driven to the maximum with a lead foot, only to be returned worse for wear. And yet, a beauty shone through that I couldn’t quite nail down. London was home, but New York City was a beloved vacation spot.

 

I scoffed at the lights and blurs of the outside world littered with too many signs, agreeing with Luke without explicitly saying so. “What’s the agenda for tonight?”

 

“Walk the carpet, pine for your ex, greet fans, speak to the press, pine for your ex, have your picture taken with Spielberg and the cast, watch the film… and pine for your ex,” Luke rattled off, popping another nut into his mouth while his finger traced down the clipboard balanced in his lap. 

 

“You’re a right funny one, you are,” I rolled my eyes. For nights like these, for one of my film debuts, I belonged to Luke, and expressly my career. But my body hummed with awareness that Kristiane was near, potential pleasure and happiness within reach. She made me whole.

 

I licked my lips and fetched my phone from the breast pocket of my tuxedo. In another desperate attempt to convince Kristiane to meet up with me later, I typed out a text, recalling how we first fell in love. Quoting Shakespeare served me well in the past.  _ “‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you- is not that strange?” I can still taste you, my Wilde one. Don’t say no. - T xx’ _

 

Not my best work, but I needed to be with her, spend time with her, try to change her mind about our future.

 

A shard of ice ran down the length of my chest from my throat to my navel at her texted response:  _ ‘I have doubts, Tom. This isn’t easy. - K’ _

 

_ ‘Let it be just us, Kristie, as we were at the start. Just Tom. Just Kristie. Nothing more – T xx’ _ _   
_ _   
_ _ ‘What if I want more? I don’t want it to be about sex. – K’ _ _   
_ _   
_ _ ‘It never is about that, my love, you know that. It never is. We’ll talk. Just be there tonight. – T xx’ _ _   
_ _   
_ _ ‘Please. Be there. – T xx’ _ __   
  
When the car pulled into the line of other limos at the start of the red carpet, Luke asked, “Are you with me? Your head in the game?”

 

I nodded confidently, pocketing my mobile and tucking my trouble in the back of my head. “Absolutely. Lead the way.”

 

Luke laughed quietly to himself, enjoying his power over me too much. He knew best where to put me, which cameras would capture me best, who asked the better questions to make me shine, to make me look desirable to work with in the future for other directors, other producers. 

 

I did my duty to my career: I signed autographs, posed for pictures with fans, lined up with my fellow filmmakers, all the while making my way inside to a theatre inside Lincoln Center. I shook hands, I smiled wide for cameras, I posed in my tux, I answered the same questions to four different reports with the variation of the same response. Entertainment Tonight kept me the longest, while Huffington Post printed the most complimentary write up about my performance in Thor.

 

As soon as we sat down for another showing of War Horse, my third (but not yet final) viewing since its completion, Luke asked, “Did you get to talk to her?”

 

Nodding, I half expected him to have asked already, begging for another update, more details. He teased me about my detour to see my girlfriend during our brief car ride from Kristiane’s theatre to Lincoln Center.

 

“Did you arrange to see her later?” Luke pretended not to be interested by flipping through and skimming through a brochure of upcoming events in the theatre. He and my other best friend Terry campaigned that Kristie and I sort ourselves into a functioning relationship. They manipulated our calendars, arranged surprise phone calls, and spontaneous dates.

 

New York City meant Kristiane, synonymous, hand in hand, inextricable for me. If I visited, Luke knew I’d go to her each and every time. All my free time dedicated to her. Too often, our schedules, our jobs, and a fucking ocean separated us. Our obstinacy stood like Matterhorn between us, both too stubborn to admit that our relationship was something worth fighting for.

 

“She didn’t shut me down… at least not outright,” I sighed, my hands scraping along my suit trousers itching to touch the woman with the gorgeous voice and unstoppable talent. I remembered her in my arms, against my mouth, purring contentedly when I kissed her. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt so alive when she wasn’t involved. She resisted, she obstinately fought the natural draw to me outside her theatre. “I think I want to see her more than she wants to see me.”

 

Luke turned his head to catch my expression. His pinched eyebrows and puckered lips indicated more than any words. Enough to remind me that Kristiane, in no uncertain terms, rejected me only three months ago. Instead, my friend commented, turning his attention back to the souvenir magazine, “This one’s headstrong.” Luke, the sentimental type, saved his ticket stubs for each event he attended with me or one of his other clients. After his many journeys, he held tight to the new places and new things he experienced, hoarding away a piece of memorabilia along the way. “Will she give in this time?”

 

Disregarding his question since I had no idea what Kristiane would do, I rattled off, “Willful, stubborn, demanding—“

 

“And you love her after all this time,” he looked at me out of the corner of his eye again. “And the botched–”

 

Sighing again, I admitted easily, cutting off his sentence, “And I love her. After all this time. Through everything we’ve been through.” The murmuring of the crowd loading into the theatre drowned out my last point.

 

Lifting his gaze up to the huge gray screen at the front of the theatre, watching a few more guests arrive and take their seats, Luke appraised, “You don’t need to see this movie again.”

 

I shook my head, “I’m in it. About an hour in, look sad for about a half hour and then get dead.” My urgency to be with the girl who both killed me and made me feel alive in equal measures made me more candid than I would ever be with press or fans or Mr. Spielberg himself. I spoke the truth to Luke. I didn’t care if I appeared too eager to leave, like a kid begging the teacher to go to recess. As much as I wanted to be, I wasn’t present for this premiere, not as much as I could be. Mentally, I already had Kristie sighing in my arms back in my hotel room 42 floors above Times Square.

 

“Want to get out of here?”

 

“More than my next breath.” Figuring I qualified it quickly, “As long as you have nothing more scheduled for me.” If he told me that I had to stay, I’d have to stay.

 

“I wouldn’t do that to you, mate. I know what the Big Apple means to you- what she means to you.”

 

I held my breath, awaiting his release from any further obligation.

 

“Is she the one?” he asked seriously.

 

Without a second thought or any hesitation, I confessed in all earnestness, “She’s the one.” I only had to convince Kristiane that she was the one, my one, and I was hers.

 

“Then it’s time to get you out of here,” he whispered conspiratorially, getting to his feet.

 

I followed behind, stepping over fellow audience members, apologizing profusely until we reached the aisle. My publicist headed up towards the back of the theatre with me in tow. The house lights lowered for the movie presentation as we climbed the soft rake to the lobby.

 

“This way,” my friend instructed, hanging a right in the lobby to avoid the press, paparazzi and fans lingering around the red carpet in front of Lincoln Center. Luke ushered me through another exit, away from curious eyes and probing photographers hungry for an exclusive. “I have a car waiting for you.”

 

My heart raced at the surge of nervous energy that I might possibly be with Kristiane within minutes. It was my plan, without a doubt what I wanted, but was it hers? I left her with the idea, needing to see her, be with her, show her again how amazing we were together. The past few months we emphasised, focused and spotlighted on what didn’t work between us. I wore a heavy burden and guilt for pulling away, recoiling to protect my heart. But without her, my life felt meaningless, dreary, empty.

 

I needed her and I wasn’t about to give up - again.

 

“You’re sure about me taking off like this?” I asked rubbing my suddenly damp palms on my suit jacket, my mind back in my hotel room. I couldn’t ignore the possibility that my stubborn love might not give into my overly confident swing into town. After what Kristiane and I went through, I didn’t feel the confidence that I’d exuded on her.

 

“I’ll double up on interviews for the London premiere,” Luke assured flippantly. Brilliant at his job, Luke kept my career life well balanced, leaving my personal time as mine. This trip to New York, though short notice, was meant to be work only, but Luke knew…

 

“What would I do without you?” I mused to the back of his head.

 

“Press conferences, sit ins, interviews, talkbacks, red carpet, and parties when we’re back in London.” He pushed through a door at the end of the corridor that led out to street level with a yellow taxi cab idling at the curb.

 

Offering my hand to shake as thanks, I said as much to Luke. “What will you do tonight?”

 

“I have to see a man about his ankle.”

 

“That- you—“ Instead I laughed, shaking my head.

 

“And his best friend,” he snuck in, “Go get your girl,” he urged, closing the door behind me, loading and securing me in the backseat. He yelled at the closed window once more, “Go get your girl.”

 

Always sympathetic, Luke lived through all my twists and turns with Kristiane. Hell, he pulled more strings that a puppeteer to get me in town in time to catch her performance of Bonnie & Clyde. He masterminded getting her to the premiere of Thor earlier that year. He knew what I felt for her and how much she and I suffered with the long distance and rising careers.

 

I didn’t get a chance to ponder Luke’s agenda before tapping on the driver’s thick plastic barrier. “The Marriott Marquis please.” Assuming this guy might take advantage of the foreigner and take me the scenic, roundabout way, I sweetened the deal, “I’ll double the meter if you go straight away.” The mere fifteen block ride to Times Square was not an attractive fare for the gentleman driving the car, not on a busy Sunday night. As impatient as I felt, Kristiane felt fifteen countries away. 

 

My heart hammered in my chest, echoed in my head. The thrill of seeing her again buzzed through me like a natural high. I checked my mobile for a message or voicemail from Kristiane to tell me her decision, but she didn’t answer my last.

 

Billboards, lights and pedestrians passed my window in a sea of colors and fluid shapes, while I prayed and wished that she waited for me. My thumbs flew over the letter keys to ask after her, to find out if she needed more convincing or if she was already in my room.  _ ‘”You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear” An Oscar Wilde quote for my Wilde one. – T xx’ _

 

Kristiane didn’t respond by the time I threw money at the driver and flew out of the car without so much as a glance back. Weaving through the people coming and going at the car park of the Marriott, I dashed into the revolving door bypassing some girls that did a double take at seeing me. I prided myself on my patience, but tonight in Kristiane’s presence, I couldn’t find that virtue. I had no time to be my usual affable self.

 

The rounded bank enclosure of lifts offered about twenty doors to choose from. I jumped into the first that opened for me, an inside car. Most visitors chose an outside carriage with the walls of glass where one could watch the hotel disappear below or approach from above. I couldn’t be arsed with my thumping heart in my throat and my vision clouded with only memories of my love. I slammed the button for my floor, the backlight illuminating, and stood back.

 

With my back to the wall, I gazed at the digital number above the sliding doors, willing the numbers to increase at a greater speed. For every even number, I felt the crushing disappointment at the thought she wouldn’t be there. For every odd number, I wavered to the other end of the spectrum, convinced she waited for me. The desire to be with Kristiane grew with each passing floor, just be in her presence, to stroke her hair, to hold her in my arms, to hear her voice without technology making it possible.

 

I could easily spend the next 33 hours in her company without making love to her. It was about spending time with her, a luxury I never had enough of.

I groaned as the door finally slid open to release me onto my floor and I sprinted down the hall, stripping my jacket as I went. My body heat elevated with every moment that separated me from my beloved, whether she was in my room or not. I’d see her again that night if I had to scale her building like King Kong if she’d ignored the keycard I gave her.

 

The door opened with the spare keycard and I entered the darkened room, my stomach and heart plummeting and landing on the floor with a discouraged thunk. A darkened room meant she stood me up.

 

But then, I saw her, her silhouette against the large, floor-to-ceiling picture window, the lights of Times Square giving her an outline. All five-foot-two of her stood as still as a mannequin, her gaze downcast towards the street below. She didn’t flinch or move or breathe or make a sound, her emotions stalled her.

 

Abandoning my jacket on the desk to my right, I crossed the room in five wide strides to trace her frame with my hands, stepping into her. I followed the curve of her neck over her shoulders down her arms to her hips.

She shuddered when my body met hers, her pent up breath exhaled. She leaned back against me, giving into the palpable relief of the intense connection and the too long ignored attraction between us.

 

I felt it too, the force of love that brought her here against everything her head told her not to do. I didn’t want to cause her pain but these small windows of opportunity to be together quieted and soothed the raging misery and torment of being apart, the time and miles between us that seemingly stretched to the milkey way and beyond the blackest of black holes.

 

“Kristiane,” I whispered into her long flowing hair, much longer than a few months ago. When I last saw her, that painful night, when she…  _ No! Not now. No time for misery, only joy to be with her again. _

 

Brushing a kiss along her temple, I murmured, “My love.”

 

She tensed under my hands. When she spoke, her voice was reedy and hollow without her usual pep. “I wasn’t… I shouldn’t… I should go home.”

 

“I’m relieved that you’re here. I wanted you here.”

 

“Tom, we… we—we broke up. This- we… shouldn’t—“

 

“You broke up with me, Kristiane. I didn’t want this. I wanted you.”

 

She shook her head and tried to step away. “Tom,” she sighed dejectedly.

 

“—Please don’t, Kristie,” I pleaded at the same time.

 

She stopped fighting, stopped trying to escape my grasp on her hips. My willful lover didn’t want to do this, rehash our painful past. I didn’t relish taking that stroll down memory lane either. 

 

“Why are you here, Tom?”

 

“I miss you and I love you,” I told her simply, sneaking my left arm around her waist.

 

“But why can’t—“

 

“Why did you come?” I whispered against her ear, breaking down the fight in her.

 

The question stopped the clock, and we watched life race by below. The traffic, the people, all going about their lives while ours took a coffee break.

Barely a breath passed between us until Kristiane moved. Showing me her phone, the Oscar Wilde message appeared, the one I sent only a short while ago.

 

In the way of explanation, she said, “I was gonna go home. Left my friends, my castmates… stood outside the bar, just stood there for five minutes, willing my feet home… to carry me to safety. Then I got this, and- now… I’m here.”

I couldn’t stop myself, I kissed her cheekbone, her cheek, her jaw, behind her ear, determined to continue on until my lips chapped, too red and inflamed to continue. My hand slid up the inside of her t-shirt to cup her left breast.

 

She whimpered, “Oh, God…” The mere touch along her skin made her melt in my hands. Her flesh malleable and pliant… dare, I thought, forgiving. She braced herself against the window, palms splayed along the glass, reaching for the vibrancy just beyond to temper whatever sensation and emotion consumed her at my touch.

 

I did nothing more than hold her, one hand on her breast, the other at her hip. My brain forged ahead to take her now, but my heart… The stubborn emotional sensibility needed her to connect with me, the one who loved her so completely.

 

“I’m sorry that I pulled away from you, Kristie,” I whispered into the smooth column of her neck, inhaling her clean crisp honeysuckle smell. Snippets of memories raced through my mind of all our intimate rendezvous. Against the door of her flat. The first time we made love. Our marathon session the first time I visited New York after agreeing to try the long distance thing. On our balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower in Paris. In the hotel lobby in Los Angeles after the Thor premiere. The heavenly month we spent together while I finished filming The Avengers in New York.

 

Then she denied me and pushed me from her life, and I regretfully let her do it. We were in different places, and that was exactly our problem when I broke her heart the first time after our trip to Paris. We broke each other, and yet kept coming back for more.

 

“I’m sorry if you felt pressured. I only care for you as no other man has loved before.” My body curled into her, my chest flush against her back, my hips against hers, my legs supporting hers. I wanted her back in my life and I could tell from the rapid beat of her heart she wanted me too. Flattening my hand over her breast and heart and skimming my other around her waist, I murmured, “You used to tell me… your heart beat for me. Is that still true? Do you still love me?”

 

A broken sob escaped her lips, a tortured sad cry of what we’d been and what we weren’t anymore. “Yes—but…”

 

“—Kristiane, don’t take that away from me with an argument.”

 

She inhaled and exhaled, her body expanding and contracting with the effort of how deeply she breathed. My body followed with her. Finally she surrendered, “I love you, Tom. I still love you.” It was both incredibly painful and cleansing for her to confess. After the colossal and monumental clusterfuck that we became, Kristie crawled back into her emotional denial, the likes of which I’d seen in her when we met, when that poor excuse of a man psychologically and emotionally abused her.

 

Crawling back into that hole and covering it in a blanket of denial was easier than facing the agony of a broken heart, Kristiane learned early on. She couldn’t face the disaster or deal with the mess, the utter desolation and destruction of her love life. Better to turn off the light and close the door on that particular chapter of her life. But I was showing her the door to her locked up emotions again, that was no small feat.

 

I turned her around in my arms and pressed her between the window and my body. Monster tears streamed down her cheeks, proof for me that she was still suffered with her denial. Kristiane didn’t cry, except when it came to her sensitive heart and me.

 

“Tom, Tom…” her hands came up to hold my face, tears marred her pale complexion. “How… no, why- w-w-why…” she felt a tremor of distress at facing the truth. “Why are you here?”

 

I tried to calm her tears, having never seen her like this. Under her hard, New York City shell, she was a sensitive creature. After too many years of denial and hiding away from herself and those that hurt her, she was dealing with her vulnerable underbelly. I loved her with her edges and tough skin, but I also loved her with the sensitivity and delicacy underneath. I wiped the wet trails streaming down her inflamed face.

 

“Because, my Wilde one,” I spoke softly. “Despite all the shit that we’ve put each other through, I still love you.”

 

Another sound of torture sounded from her, “I never…” her voice uneven, her breath shallower under the stress. “Never… thought I’d see you again.”

 

“I couldn’t stay away, as much as I tried to. Kristiane, you broke my heart, but you also destroyed any possible happiness with anyone else. Even in our darkest days, I’d rather suffer with you than be happy with someone else.”

 

This only caused her even more hurt and pain. She shook her head, unable to reconcile it after I’d pulled away and ignored her as I was prone to do. That fear of commitment caused an intense push and pull within me. I’d pressured her beyond her limits to prove that I wasn’t afraid and then retracted entirely when she stood up for herself.

 

My fingers brushed her tears away as I felt her hands clamp on my shoulder blades with a strong firm grip. I was her safety and security in the turmoil of emotion. “Shh… shh, love,” I cooed softly. “Shh, I’m here.”

 

The words only left her reeling with another layer of vulnerability exposed. The tears kept coming and I kept wiping them away. Her confusion was all too evident, loving me but pushing me away, wanting to be close but denying the one thing that would bind us together. “H-h-h-h-how are-are you h-h-here? You wanted— so much… more… I couldn’t give you…”

 

“Sh… none of that now, love… We don’t have to talk about that. I’m here.”

 

Her tear-stained face turned up to mine, “How, Tom? Why would you… ever.. ever come back… for- for me? You asked me to marry you and I said no.”

  
  



	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Down With Love**

****New York City, December 4, 2011** **

         Tom flinched.

         The clipped summary of our last breakup, the impact of it hit him so hard that Tom flinched as if I’d slapped him. I cursed my lack of filter again, having inflicted more pain on him. Recalling the event that put us at odds and on opposite sides of an ocean only derailed him for a blink of an eye, an involuntary response to a two letter word I’d uttered.

         No.

         I’d said it then, on that rarely warm September night in Central Park when Tom asked me to marry him. Not quite a question but he’d been swept up in the romance of the night together and seduced by the heavenly month we’d spent living as a real couple in love. I knew the issue would come up again, it had so many times in the two years we’d been in love.

         I loved him with every breath in my body, with every conscious thought and unconscious dream, with every syllable and sound that I created. I felt deeply for him. That would never change, but as much as I loved him, I couldn’t give him what he wanted. Repeating the statement for emphasis, I whispered after another pull of air, “I said no.”

         I couldn’t marry him. I couldn’t marry.

         The disbelief and the sense of betrayal displayed on his face at my denial. His blue eyes, reflecting all the colors from the blur of neon lights shining through from the square below, steeled and didn’t hide the pain that I caused him. His expression hardened to a stare and he pressed in lips together to lock away something he’d regret saying.

         “Tom,” I lost some of my ground, hating myself for hurting him. “Tom… what you want, what I want—they’re not the same,” I choked out with the effort of speaking, of stringing words together. My stomach clenched from hurting him, I didn’t want to pain him. I didn’t want to have to do it again.

         Digging his hands into the thick of my hair, he held me so I couldn’t look away or avoid this discussion, couldn’t hide behind my denial. His voice, raw as the emotional wound I gave him, pleaded, “Kristiane, we—don’t you see? We want the same, to be together. What are you so afraid of?” Hesitantly he placed a tender kiss on my lips, leaving me even more breathless than the heartbreak his reappearance had unearthed, the fact that I couldn’t be who he wanted.

         I placed the flat of my hands against the crisply ironed, impossibly white, tuxedo shirt, feeling his chest rise and fall with his increased inhale and exhale. I focused on soaking in his presence, the intelligent mind that quoted Shakespeare and Wilde to me, the impeccable manners that treated me like a lady, and the warm lean body of the man I fell in love with. I took a shuddering breath, more tears clouding my voice and tracking down my cheeks. “Tom, we don’t. I can’t give you want you want…”

          _Without losing me._

         “Kristiane, my love, my Wilde one, we don’t have to be all or nothing. Consider—“

         “—I won’t change my mind. You offered something I can’t give you.”

         “You love me, Kristiane. It’s yours to give… your hand, your heart—all yours to give.”

         I struggled against the mass of him pressing me into the glass paned window overlooking Time’s Square, feeling the brightness of the lights pulsating against my back. With all my might, I fought Tom off and he straightened away from me. How I hated that gap between us, that small divide, loathed being those scant few inches from him, when all I longed for was to be trapped by him, leveraged between his body and the city I loved so well. Plodding towards the door to leave, I felt Tom’s hand grab mine.

“I won’t let you go that easily, Kristie. Not this time, not this way.”

“I need to go home.” It was a feeble, futile response, a lie, to guard my shattering heart. He knew it and I knew it. My denial reared its ugly head.

Tom stepped into my personal space, pressing his body into mine from behind and stalled. The clawing impulsive need to hold me burned in his skin, in every inch of his body that touched mine, but his arms stayed at his side. But I felt his desire to wrap himself around me, the tactile bulk of man stood there to remind me that he knew my mind and my body, and I didn’t want to get away.

Though I should have, I didn’t bolt for the door since I had no conviction around him. I didn’t want to leave him, or have him leave me again, but inevitably I knew that time was never on our side. Hours upon hours, days upon days, weeks upon weeks, months upon months, all I ever wanted was to be locked in his arms. But in all those months upon months, we’d spent more time apart than together.

When he spoke again long moments later, his voice was calmed and controlled, “We both want the same thing, to be together. Our month here in New York was heavenly, Kristiane. I want that back.”

And then he touched me again, gentle strokes along my bare arms, petting me in a slow, soothing pattern.

He continued, “I want to recreate it, to wake up beside you, to walk beside you, to be included in your life, to meet for lunch because we’re both free, to take a run through the park together, to be there for each other through the ups and downs, to support each other, to argue with you, to make love with you, and everything in between. Being with you, my love, is all I ever wanted out of this.”

“That’s all I wanted with you, Tom. I never thought I would feel this way for another person. But I can’t marry…” I trailed off to soften the blow. Saying it again didn’t make it any easier. I didn’t want to say it, because it hurt him so deeply. When I’d looked at him a few hours earlier, I saw the pain etched in his brow, in the set of his lips, and the worst of all, in his eyes. His eyes expressed every emotion so clearly, he portrayed fathomless depths of devastation, so much pain that I felt it.

“God, Tom, don’t make me hurt you again. I can’t bear it. I love you so much, with every breath I take, with every note I sing. You’re in me, a part of me, and I love you. But I can’t give you what you want.”

 _I’m not the girl for you_. The thought returned to me like our first kisses in London. I told him then, I’d said it to him.

“I don’t understand.” From the broken statement, he flustered and battled for justification in his head. His caress along my arms faltered but only momentarily.

“You pull away and withdraw when things don’t go your way.”

Guiding me back around to face him, he locked his strong arms around my waist, coiling around me. His physical response defied my words before he spoke again. Meeting my eyes in the muted light of the multi colored hues pouring through the window, the earnestness within the depths of him shone through those expressive eyes. “I’m not pulling away now.”

But the tune he sung wasn’t in sync with the beat set when I denied him and rejected his proposal. Cutting to the core of what brought me here and the reason I almost stayed away, “You’re here to fuck me. That’s different, and you know it.” Enunciating the syllables brought equal parts joy and hurt, fresh tears appeared, the hot moist trails burned my skin.

“I’m here to spend what time I have near you with you. I’m here to tell you that I’m still in love with you. That doesn’t go away because you’ve rejected me. I’m here to touch you again, to make love to you again, to change your mind about us.”

Hope. He clung to it, like a lost boy in the woods clutching his favorite blanket for security.

The statement hung there. Brutal honesty paused the ticking of the clock, an anticipated downbeat that limped back into its steady beat.

Against the screaming choir of no chanting through my head, I combed my fingers through his silky wild curls, admiring the length and how much it had grown in the months since we parted. But how much more had changed in that time, since I sent him away with a broken heart and mine too. I took in his features now, seeing my hurt in them. He wore emotional scars like I buried mine. “Tom, you’re so unafraid, to show me yourself, to show me your pain – the pain I inflicted on you – to show me everything I’ve ever wanted… and didn’t want. But we don’t work.”

“We can,” he argued. The man who made my heart beat and sing picked me up in his arms and moved towards the bed. Fully aware that I shouldn’t do this, I couldn’t bring myself to deny him, I couldn’t say no to this. Hours of pleasure and passion, indulging in our physical connection, I could easily give him that. Making love like we did had no boundaries, no limits, no deal breakers. Our issues never came between us when we loved each other physically. Loving each other was perhaps the one thing we agreed upon.

“I didn’t know that the last time we made love would be the final time,” he told me, stepping closer to the bed. “I didn’t appreciate you enough then.”

I could never, not once, not ever, complain about Tom’s performance. I always felt protected, nurtured, and worshipped, sufficiently appreciated. He pleasured and loved me with his body, but it came from his emotion for me. His lovemaking felt as genuine as his acting, dedicating all of himself to make sure it was right and true.

As he lowered me to the bed decorated in high end linens, he whispered, “Tell me now if you don’t want this.”

I shook my head vehemently, “I can’t and I won’t. I want you as much as I ever have.” It was true. Since the moment we met under cheap lantern lights in a pub in Borough Market smaller than my New York City apartment to the top of Saint Paul’s Cathedral overlooking the world to the scuffed and worn stage of the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre to the red carpet premiere under the sparkling, glittery lights of Hollywood in Los Angeles to the quiet, peaceful afternoon in Central Park surrounded by singing birds to my corner of serenity in the middle of the hustle and bustle of city life, I wanted him. “But—“

“—No! No more of that!” He sternly interrupted burying his face into my hair, his tenuous clutch to hope for us tightening.

*

I swallowed more of her arguments with a kiss.

On a dime, the woman who I never thought would be in my arms again laid beneath me with her hands clawing at my back in a powerful grip to pull me closer and her legs coiling around my waist. Urgently pressing, her voice demanded, between kisses, “Make me sing… Tom, make me sing.”

Kristiane elevated her head towards me while bringing me into her to crash our lips together, before she collapsed back into the mattress. She hadn’t wanted to admit that she craved me as much as I did her, but I felt it in the slant of her lips along mine. I tasted her desire on her tongue when she slid in past my lips, the sweetest fervent exploration of her mouth against mine. Her hands moved to grip my head and plant me within the reach of her kisses and no further.

My lover became the ambitious devoted woman powerfully in love with me once more and nothing would come between us if she had her say. I let myself release the betrayal I felt in her denying me. When we abandoned our fears and insecurities, when we stopped fighting, we were passionate, consummate and affectionate lovers.

I concentrated on feeling her beneath me, her hips thrusting up into my tensing groin. I allowed my body to relax and rest all my weight on her, to feel her heat and her heartbeat. I tucked my hands between her and the posh bedclothes underneath her back and pressed her into me, any closer and I would absorb her into my being.

Rocking my erection against her, she gasped out of our kiss to sigh my name. Kristiane combed her fingers into my hair, continuing down my back, raking her nails in her arousal to my ass. She squeezed me, her body reeling me in until we were one.

My eyes blazed into hers, gleaning what I could from her emotional state. The tears from earlier had been replaced with arousal and the love she felt for me. My wounded pride needed consoling and needed to know how much she desired me after denying my marriage proposal.

Caressing her mouth with mine, I guided us to roll over, allowing her on top of me. Grabbing fistfuls of her t-shirt, I lifted it up over her head, feasting on the bare skin I uncovered, decorated in blues and reds and greens flashing across her temporarily. My hands swallowed her up in another eager embrace when she dragged her lips across my neck, her hands sneaking up to the buttons of my dress shirt. I felt her kiss my neck, taking her time and her fill of me and I moaned into her seduction. With every swipe of her tongue along my nape, my blood increased to a boiling point, pulsing and coursing with my need for her. Knowing that she loved and desired me made my heart sing, as beautifully as she had done on stage earlier that day.

When her fingers tripped up my chest, I ground her hips down into mine, maddening friction causing a groan from both of us. “Kristiane, I need to be inside you.”

She sat up, her hips circling and twisting over me, riding the stiff bulge within my tux trousers. She led my hands to cup her lace covered breasts. Small wordless noises escaped her throat, voicing her pleasure on each exhale as her center thrust forward. While my fingers squeezed and teased her nipples to taut peaks, Kristiane unclasped her bra for me to remove from her body.

I sat up with her, dropping kisses and love bites on her breasts before taking each one in my mouth in turn. Our shortened breaths and hearty moans filled the room with a symphony of desire. Each sound flowed into the next, each caress morphed into the next, and each kiss and bite eased into a nibble or nip along exposed flesh.

“Tom—God!—please… I need you…” Passionately she yanked at my King Henry curls and devoured my lips with hers. She never relented in her hunger for me and I was only prepared to go above and beyond to please her, to be with her in every way, to prove that we could be what she feared, what she denied. Even as my goatee burned the flesh around her mouth, inflaming them with an exaggerated lipstick, she couldn’t stop kissing me.

The rock of her hips and the melodic chant of my name from her mouth felt and sounded like the sweetest harmony. Having her kiss me and caress me with abandon, the grandest symphony couldn’t compete with the crescendo and cadence of my heart and the surge of blood through my system.

My hands sunk down her back into her jeans, following the heated flesh, softly firm as I remembered. My body knew her well enough, and eagerly traveled the missed dips and mounds. I’d missed her so terribly after such a happy period in our relationship that ended abruptly with a ‘no.’ The need to chase that word from between us, I breathed into the valley between her breasts, “Do you still care for me?”

With another hot nuzzle against the crown of my head, she emphasized, “Yes, Tom… so much.”

“Do you want me?” With the words out of my mouth, I sucked the pliant flesh of her breast into my mouth, branding her as mine with a love bite.

Crushing me into her, she bowed into the attention on her chest. “Yes, yes, yes…”

I couldn’t say if she’d said it because I needed to hear it, but it calmed the sting of her rejection and my ego gratefully accepted the boost. I heard her ‘yes’ and I craved more, an addictive aphrodisiac. I gripped her hips steadily, lifting her. “Stand over me, my Wilde one, need you naked.”

Using my shoulders, she stood on the mattress, locking her ankles by my upper thighs, using me to keep her steady. Rushing in, I planted my lips above her belly button at eyelevel, nipping at her toned abdomen. Her muscles flexed and rippled like she did when she supported her singing voice. Her breathing centered well below her lungs and I reveled at the life of her.

My fingers unbuckled and unzipped her jeans in a well-rehearsed routine, the sense and muscle memory of my favorite activity, undressing my woman. I peeled the denim down over her hips to the top of her legs. One by one, I had her step out of the offending material that kept me from her. The scent of her arousal, the dizzying and intriguing aroma of honeysuckle, a spring day in Hyde Park and female pheromone, filled my nose as she stood above me in only her cotton g-string, her nude-colored performance panties. She lured me in to press the flat of my tongue along her core, the thin cotton damp with her desire, but the trace of her flavor didn’t chip away at the enormous thirst I had for her.

Kristiane keened an exclamation, a blend of a gasp, a squeak and a choking sound, her hands flexing on my shoulders. Her legs liquefied with her intense longing, her body strung out with an ache for fulfillment. As she sank from her standing position, I laid the breathless woman out on the bed, guiding her panties off of her.

“Tom… please…” A few breaths escaped her and her hands reached for me. It wasn’t the first time she begged for me, and as I got my trousers off, I prayed it wouldn’t be the last. I talked her into bed with the wish to treasure her, and that much was true. But I also wanted to show her again how well matched we were, and that this incredible physical, psychological and emotional connection could be the stuff behind a good marriage.

The old fashioned gentleman in me found the idea of the wife and the kids and the house and the minivan, with playdates, veterinary appointments, school report cards, lunch boxes, runny noses, and fingerprints on the stainless steel appliances enormously appealing. Sharing all of that with a partner to help with all the pitfalls and triumphs of raising little people struck me as a life I wanted. My best friend could be that woman, if she could get beyond her fear. Who better to experience all that life had to offer than a woman who could recite Shakespeare, Wilde, Sondheim, Rodgers and Hammerstein, and Kander and Ebb off the top of her head and beautifully sing our children to sleep.

Tugging at my curls, Kristiane, her voice laced with sex, demanded, “Fuck me… please… do it now…”

I ascended up her body from her knee to her breasts, dragging the whiskers of my goatee along the sensitively puckered flesh of my lover. I paused at an engorged nipple and rolled my tongue over it, before wrapping my lips around the globe of skin into my mouth.

“Oh God! God, guh—Tom… ah—please do it now…” She arched and strained to quiet the carnal need pounding in her.

In the muted lights from the Big Apple outside, I kissed her lower lip, plucking it between my lips, prolonging the inevitable. “Don’t distance yourself from me, from this.” My cock screamed for relief, the pressure of arousal tensing each muscle and tendon of my body, driving me forward to find release. I shoved my hand under her neck into her hair and fisted the mane, propping myself up on that elbow. Dipping my head, I angled my head to capture her lips once more.

Her arms ribboned behind my neck, holding me captive as she followed the dance of my tongue caressing and playing along hers. She moaned erotically bringing me further into her, to cover her body with mine. Her legs wrapped around mine, offering more of herself to me, her ankles hooked behind my calves.

The kiss ended, and she whispered, “Please fuck me.”

I read her distance as clearly as it appeared between us in Los Angeles more than a year ago. To force her back into the immediacy of the moment, I urged her, “Remember what I sent you tonight, my Wilde one. The one that brought you here.”

”You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear,” she recited the Oscar Wilde quote that I sent her, her eyes clearing and returning to me. She knew that this wasn’t just about sex, wasn’t just about fucking, wasn’t about bodies when it came to us. Ours was about emotions and feelings, love and desire, our bond and friendship.

“I’m listening. It’s been  _your_  song, and  _your_  voice since the first time I heard you sing.” I pressed into her, the pleasure of her body consuming me. I couldn’t say anything more as her core hugged me from root to tip. I didn’t need to say anymore, I got through to her, I broke down that wall.

She nodded for me. “Make love to me.”

I did, savoring every movement, each sigh, each grip, each kiss, each caress. She incited a rage of endorphins, oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin within me with her acceptance and her acknowledgment of what this was. I thrust and she encouraged with another squeeze of her hand on my back. I rocked and she pressed her hips up. The low ambient light did nothing to diminish the brightness we created in being intimate again. Our affection was just as alive, just as fresh as the day I came to see her when she made her debut as a Broadway leading lady.

That became the day that she became my leading lady, and I knew that this relationship had flourished into something more than short lived, long distance romances. I gave her my devotion, my family heirloom watch, my hope that we’d mean something to each other, my heart, and she had all of them. Still.

Our lovemaking grew in intensity, my hips driving into hers as the inevitable conclusion approached closer and closer. The scales tipped for Kristiane, and her orgasm escaped in a glorious release of sounds from her throat. Her arms and legs coiled around me as she came undone. Her pulsating sex triggered my own release, and I crushed her beneath me as my cock twitched inside her.

Her heavy breathing broke when she swallowed before she brushed a kiss along my neck. I’d buried my face against her shoulder, sharing the incredible natural high that we created to together. I didn’t feel inclined to untangle from her, and she didn’t release me either. As my pulse dipped and quieted to its normal pace, I concentrated on Kristiane’s fingers kneaded my hair in a comforting rhythm.

In the silence, she whispered, “I’ve missed you.” It was a genuine statement, her wall of denial down.

“I’ve missed you too. Stay the night?”

I felt her nod against me, and my heart soared. We put a pin in our issues to enjoy each other’s company, and I had time with her. Precious time with the woman I loved that came in short supply…


End file.
